The old man did not deny it. "Those were difficult times."
"Have you ever heard the name Wendell Sweet?"
He pursed his lips. Spittle had gathered in the corners. "No, I don't know this name."
"He was shot to death, and his body was found in the Miami River."
"Ah. I remember. It was on the news. He was dealing drugs. Those people deserve what they get."
"Hector Mesa left town the morning after Wendell was killed. Do you know why?"
The big, liver-spotted hands went outward in a shrug.
"But he must have told you. You're his padrón. He works for you."
Ernesto Pedrosa's eyes shifted slowly to fix on her. They were pale, watery blue, the color of ice. His pink-rimmed lower lids drooped, pulled by shadowy pouches and weighted by the things he had seen in his life. Black pupils fixed on Gail, and as through a chink in a wall, pure lucidity shone out.
"Olvídate de Hector. No me preguntes más." With a wave of his hand he directed her to take him back to the others, and she did.
Forget about it, Pedrosa had said. Forget about Hector. Don't ask about it again. Gail wondered why he had chosen to be under her balcony today with the gardener. Calling her granddaughter, his pretty nieta, making her feel sorry for an old man's infirmities.
She left him with the old people listening to boleros, and he rose shakily from his chair to dance a few steps with one of the ladies. Gail walked toward the house. She saw Anthony standing on the terrace, the center of a group of men. He held a cigar. How relaxed he looked, laughing with them. He wore pleated linen pants and a pale blue shirt. A child toddled by and he patted her on the head.
The heat, the noise were too much. Gail felt dizzy from it.
Anthony noticed her and smiled, motioning for her to come there, to join them. The men looked at her.
Gail backed up, turned, and hurried through the crowd, pushing her way, running past the guest house, going faster until she came to the back of the property and the gate in the wall. Anthony's voice came from behind her. She lifted the heavy iron latch and pushed open the gate. The golf course undulated left and right, curling around small lakes and white sand. She walked straight across, then around a dense stand of ficus trees. In the distance she could see the bell tower of the hotel and could hear the band. She went over a rise in the ground, then down, and there was a lake and she could go no farther.
"Gail!"
Annoyed, out of breath, Anthony stood at the top of the berm. "What are you doing? Why did you walk away when I called you? Everyone saw it." When she didn't answer, he let out an exhalation of forbearance and trotted down the slope toward her. The setting sun turned his hair deep copper.
Coming closer, he frowned. "Are you all right? Are you feeling sick? What's the matter?"
"What I saw— You and those men. It was like Ernesto. Exactly."
"Gail, come back to the house with me. I'm going to call the doctor."
"Don't touch me!" She swerved out of his grasp, and he stared at her, stunned. She said, "I'm going to ask you something, and I'd like the truth."
He exhaled, showing his patience. "Okay. Ask me. What do you want to know?"
"Did you talk to Hector Mesa about Wendell Sweet?"
"Por Dios, what kind of question is that?"
"Did Hector know about the offshore account you're managing for Harry Lasko? Did Hector know about the sale of the casino to Ricardo Molina? Did he know?"
"No. I don't discuss that kind of thing with Hector. Why are you—"
"What about your grandfather? Did you tell him?"
Anthony hesitated. "Yes. We talked about it."
"Did your grandfather ask Hector Mesa to kill Wendell Sweet?"
His mouth opened. "No. Why in the name of God would you think that? Wendell was killed in a drug deal."
"Was he? Wendell knew things that could get you disbarred, if not criminally prosecuted. You have the key to Harry Lasko's offshore account, money that Harry got from a drug trafficker. You're taking the risk because Harry is your friend, but Wendell could have ruined you. Couldn't Hector have solved the problem? Couldn't your grandfather have asked him to? Ernesto is an old man, and you're his life."
"You just accused my grandfather of murder! This is insane."
"Why don't you ask him?"
"I won't ask him that!"
"Of course you can't. What if he said yes? What would you do then? Turn him in? You can't even accuse Hector. He's going to get away with it."
"Let's go back to the house." He grabbed her wrist. "We're not going to discuss this now. We're going to the Biltmore with the family, and you will behave normally. If you can't, then you will stay in our room until I come back."
Laughing, she jerked away. "Oh, my God. Listen to yourself."
He put his hands on his hips. "What do you want me to do? Leave you here? Everyone is wondering what happened. What am I supposed to tell them?"
"I don't give a damn."
"Ay, mi madre, que pena. "
Voices came nearer, and Gail realized the Pedrosa family and their friends were on their way toward the hotel already. She saw them moving through the trees, and gradually they came into view with their chairs and coolers. But not Ernesto. He would watch from the upper floor of the house with his wife and the others who could not make the walk.
Anthony's cousin Bernardo saw the two standing over by the pond and made an exaggerated shrug, asking what was going on. Anthony gave him a dismissive wave.
"Look at that," he said. "They know we're having a fight. Ay, Diòs mio. Gail, come on. I'm tired of being out here like this."
"I have one more question."
"Enough questions." He grabbed her elbow. "Do you want me to carry you back? I will do it. Don't think I won't."
Gail planted her feet in the grass. "What did you do to Dave?"
"What?"
"Did you kill his deal with the Old Island Club? Did you do that?"
He laughed. "No. What are you talking about?"
"You're lying. When I told you what I did for Dave, you didn't scream about it. You said we should forget it. Remember? No one has an answer why it fell through. Then miraculously someone offered him a job at a resort on St. John. Harry Lasko is in the business. He would have done you a favor."
Anthony stared at her, and the defiance in his expression told her the truth.
"Oh, God, the irony. I cleaned out my trust account to help Dave with a deal that you had already poisoned. And when I told you— Well, what could you do but pay me the money back?"
He dropped her arm. "Yes, and I would do it again. Dave wanted to take you away from me. He filed the custody case for that reason. He used Karen as a tool to drive us apart. You lied to me about what you felt for him. Every time I talked to you, I learned something more. You even slept with him after you and I were together. What guarantee did I have that it wouldn't happen again?"
"So you left him with nothing but a job on the other side of the Caribbean."
"You still love him. Go on, admit it." He shouted at her, "What you did—lending him one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars! Que barbaridad. Admit it!"
"Yes. I admit it. He's been part of my life since I was eighteen years old. He's Karen's father. We had our differences, but he always treated me with respect. He isn't as smart as you are, not as clever or rich. He failed at business, and God knows, he might have failed with the Old Island Club too, but he was never cruel. What you did to him was cruel. Unbelievably heartless."
"Are you going back to him?"
She closed her eyes. "No."
"Que si. You should. Go. Go to Dave Metzger. You would be back here in a week." Anthony paced in front of her. "Why do we play these games with each other?"
Gail said quietly, "All I thought about was you. I wanted you so much that nothing else mattered. Neither of us wanted to live in that house, but there we are. You work for your grandfather now, and you didn't want to do that. And I won't h
ave a law practice anymore, except what you give me. I've been erased."
"All right. If you want your own office, then keep it. All you had to say was no."
"The price of fighting you is too high."
"That is very weak, Gail. Weak and selfish. You fight for Jamie Sweet, and for Karen, but not for me. Not for us."
"Why should I?" She looked up at him. "I'm going to move my things out of here tonight."
What? No. That's ridiculous. I won't let you do it."
"You can't stop me."
"I said no."
She started up the slope.
"Gail!" He turned her around. "We're going to be married in three weeks. You'll come back to your senses. You can't do this!" His breath came quickly. "You can't. I love you. You know this. No one else could love you as much as I do." He put his arms around her. "Corazón, we belong to each other. Don't frighten me like this."
She turned away from his kiss.
"All right. I understand what you're saying. I was wrong. I am sorry. What do you want me to do? Tell me. What does Dave want? I can arrange it. Does he want money? Another restaurant? Even here in Miami. Tell me."
"I don't want anything from you."
He held her face. "You don't mean that. Please don't. This is crazy! What do you mean, you want to call it off? I don't believe you."
She took his hands away and backed up a few steps. "Jamie Sweet explained to me how she knew that Harry Lasko hadn't murdered Wendell. Do you know what she said? Because Harry was a good man. He was kind, and he loved her children. Harry knew how much their father meant to them, and he wouldn't have taken him away. He wouldn't have hurt them like that. That's what you did, Anthony. You hurt Karen by destroying Dave, and no one—no one—does that to my child!"
"I didn't— No. You see it that way, but Gail, remember what her father did. He deserted her for six months! Karen has been safe here. She has anything she wants. Haven't I treated her well?" Gail started to walk up the slope, but he blocked her path. "We have both—you and I—been under some pressure. Gail, sweetheart, por amor de Diós. Do you want me to apologize? I will. I will every day of my life, on my knees, but I can't lose you. I don't even want to say that. I won't let it happen."
"It's too late. I've seen who you really are."
He put his hands out as if to steady himself. "We'll leave here. We can find another house. We'll get out of here and go wherever you want."
"You can't leave. You've wanted this ever since the old man dragged you out of Cuba, and your miserable cousins despised you for being his favorite. You'll never leave because you want it too much. Your grandfather knows that. He isn't as feeble as you think. He knows how to play you, and you go right along because at heart, you're just like Ernesto—controlling, manipulative, and ruthless."
Gail took the ring off her finger and shoved it into his hand.
He stared at it.
"I don't want it. I don't want you."
When he looked back at her, his eyes had reddened, and his lips turned white with fury. He grabbed her upper arms, and she cried out from the pain. "Puta mentirosa. Ingrata. " He shoved her away so hard she fell, catching herself on her outstretched arms. "¡Que tonto fui en haberte querido!"
Her elbow was bleeding, but she barely felt it. She hated him so thoroughly that if he had come after her, she would have spat in his face.
Gail stood up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Ask your grandfather. Go on, ask him. Not now. Don't spoil the holiday, but someday, ask him if Hector Mesa committed murder to save you. What will you do when he says yes?"
Anthony extended his arm and pointed at her. "¡Sepárate de mi! Get out of my sight. I don't want to see your face. I don't want to hear from you. Don't call me. Don't come around here again." His voice cracked. He took a breath. "Do not write to me. Do not ask anyone else to contact me. I don't know your name."
"You're pathetic." Gail laughed. "If you can live with what he did, you deserve each other."
He tossed the diamond up and down in his palm, then strode quickly to the lake.
"Anthony!"
But his arm went back, and the ring was flying up, sparkling for a quick moment before it plummeted downward, splashed, and was gone.
He turned around, stumbling as if momentarily blinded. In that same moment Gail might have run to him, fallen to his feet and begged him to forgive her, because she had gone crazy, driven mad by what had happened to her daughter, and her fears had driven out all rational thought. He would have screamed at her, perhaps would have hit her, but he would have taken her back.
As she watched, his expression settled into stone. He turned and walked away. Gail went to the top of the rise and looked after him awhile. He didn't look back.
TWENTY-THREE
The decision came easily: The offices of Gail A. Connor, Attorney at Law, P.A., would move to smaller quarters. After some haggling, the building management allowed the lease to be transferred to a suite one floor down in the back. One office for the lawyer, a tiny secretarial area, and no view. The computer network and the extra copy machine would go. Miriam, with her usual optimism, said it would be cozy.
Gail had not heard from Anthony, nor did she care to. Her friends said it was better to make a clean break. Gail and Karen would stay with Irene for now. Karen didn't mind; she had a friend across the street. She had taken the news of her father's impending departure well enough. Gail thought it was because she had never really become used to having him around. Or because her mind was on her party. Tomorrow all her friends would gather at her grandmother's house to celebrate her eleventh birthday.
By late on Friday afternoon, Gail and Miriam had organized most of the files, papers, office supplies, and assorted junk into boxes, ready for the move the following weekend. Gail wanted to start over as soon as she could.
Thin arms extended, curls swaying, Miriam lugged a box full of computer software manuals down the hall, preceding Gail, who carried old magazines from the Florida Bar. Every day this week they had deposited two boxes into the Dumpster on their way home.
Gail dropped her box on the floor by the exit, and Miriam dropped hers on her desk.
Miriam held up a big brown envelope. "I found some things of Lynn's when I was cleaning out her desk. She took most of her stuff, but she missed this. It's like, lipstick, a mirror, some quarters and dimes, and pictures, new panty hose, breath mints—"
"I still feel bad about firing her," Gail said.
"Awww." Miriam gave Gail a little hug. "Don't worry. She'll find something else."
"Not easily. She doesn't have much going for her. Well, wrap it up and put it in the mail on Monday."
Miriam turned out the light over her desk. "I talked to Danny, and he can get some of his friends to help us move next weekend, if you'd like." Miriam's husband, who worked for fire-rescue in Hialeah, spent his spare time on the weight machines.
"I'd like that very much," Gail said. "Tell them lunch is on me." She turned off the light in the hall. "Miriam, do you mind awfully much that we have to move? Things haven't worked out as well as I'd hoped, and I won't be able to give you a raise for a while."
Brown eyes widened, and the red-lipsticked mouth went into a big smile. "Gail, no, it's okay. If you can't pay me right now, that's okay too, I can wait."
Gail laughed. "No, I promise, that isn't necessary, but thank you." She slid the frosted glass window shut, then stepped back to stare at it. "Miriam? Do you remember the day I got the flowers?"
"Oh, those flowers. I remember. Why?"
"Where were you when they were delivered?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. In the extra office working on the books, I think."
"You didn't see the delivery man at all? Not a glimpse?"
"No. But it wasn't a man. It was a woman."
"A woman? Nobody ever told me that."
"Well . . . nobody asked. I heard the door opening, and Lynn said, Can I help you? And then this woman's voice, but I don't remember
what she said. I wasn't really listening." Miriam looked closely at Gail. "Are you still thinking about that?"
"It still bothers me why the florist had no record. Who was that woman, I wonder? A friend of Charlie Jenkins? Lynn would have recognized him if he had brought the flowers. And how did he know about Renee?"
"Maybe he went through all your stuff at home." Miriam gave a theatrical shudder. "Scary, scary. I am glad he's dead, even if you had to be the one to find him. Do you dream about him?" She stopped herself, quickly lifting her hands, palms out. "Olvídalo. I'm sorry for reminding you. No more talking about it."
Gail put her purse over her shoulder and found the right key to lock the office door. She said quietly, "Yes, I dream about him. I'd like to find a way to stop. I dream about a lot of things I shouldn't."
Lynn Dobbert's house was west of the city in a nondescript neighborhood off the expressway where narrow town houses with minuscule yards were jammed one next to the other, and too many cars had worn away the grass to weeds and white rock. Gail parked between a pickup truck whose rear axle was supported on two jacks, and a low-riding Honda Civic with a Nicaraguan flag on the antenna. Gail had retrieved her Mercedes this week from the body shop, and it seemed out of place here.
Identical poured concrete walkways led to the long row of tiny porches and doors. Gail glanced at the envelope on which she had written Lynn's address before leaving the office. A graying woman in the next yard swept the front steps and kept an eye on this tall, skinny blonde in sunglasses, coming toward her in a dress that showed too much of her legs.
"Excuse me. Do you speak English?" When the woman nodded, Gail asked if she had the right town house. Did that one belong to the Dobberts?
"She no home."
Unsure if the woman had understood, Gail said, "¿Es la casa de Tom y Lynn Dobbert?"
"I spik Englee," the woman said, insulted.
"Oh. Of course. Well, could you tell me—"
Suspicion of Betrayal Page 32
